


Warrior's Burden

by RyukaTomo



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anger, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Subtle as a Sledgehammer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29590053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyukaTomo/pseuds/RyukaTomo
Summary: The battle does not always end after the weapons are put away. Emotions run thick and potent, but not always shown.
Relationships: Y'shtola Rhul & Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Warrior's Burden

She barely registers the graceful clicks of Y'shtola's heeled boots hitting the old stone platform, the uneven mossy bricks scarred and cleaved where the battle had raged. Her eyes remain on the stars on the newly darkened sky as she attempts to swallow at the feeling of swelling acid in her throat. The light she absorbed has ascended to a constant chalky burn at the back of her throat, the pain blooming in her chest and stomach now accompanied by a new ache. 

"You are ever talented in battle, I see. My time away had me forget just how overwhelming your skill could seem."

Y'shtola's words come smoothly and gently, her voice as calming and mature as it always was, if not moreso. At this, Ryuka finally turns her head and regards the Scion. It feels as if the light within is burning right behind her eyes and she wonders idly if perhaps her irises are glowing from the barely restrained aether. Y'shtola's time in the first had done nothing to erode her beauty and grace. Her new garments seem to fit her better than anything she had been known to wear before. Ryuka indulges in allowing her eyes to wander over Y'shtola's dress as she knows the all-but-blind scion won't be wise to it. It is a regretful indulgence.

"I am in battle what I must be. There are things that must be done, and I am often the only one that can do them."

The bluntness of the phrasing can't have gone unnoticed between the two, though the only evidence of the meaning being received was a downward quirk of the edge of Y'shtola's lip. 

"You are unequalled in strength and there is no one who could possibly take your place indeed, however know that we are always here at your-"

"How many people have I killed, do you think, 'Shtola? Hundreds? Thousands? How many gods have I slain? Dozens? I've lost count. I've lost count and the only thing that remains to me is the swelling regret. The grief. The apathy."

Her eyes sting. It is not the aether burning behind her eyes any longer. The tears won't come, it has been long since they last did. Instead the emptiness opens its gaping maw, growing in size every day, and swallows up the tears. Swallows the feeling until she can't even feel the brushing of a hand over shoulder. 

"My friend, you have done what you must to save innocent lives. The lives of people who are better having known you than not."

Y'shtola was never one for comfort. She is unskilled at reassurance and never one to initiate contact. Her desperation can't be heard in her voice or in her words, but the hand upon her comrade's shoulder was screaming it.

"I don't sleep anymore. When I lay my head down for rest the horrors are painted upon the insides of my eyelids and I wake screaming and tearing at myself. I kill and kill and I grow in strength with every victory and I cannot help but to put myself in the shoes of any one of the many many beings I've slain. I look up at myself in abject terror and I don't see a warrior fighting for the innocent or for a better world. I see a conqueror. I see a bloodied slaughterer whose strength knows no end and no true check."

Ryuka's tears are now flowing but the stony expression belies nothing of the emotion in her words. The inflection of her voice never wavers from cool and steady, as if she were remarking on the chill of the night air. Y'shtola's face is stricken with worry. 

"My frien-"

"I wonder. If friend is truly the proper word. For what words do you have for me when my duty is done, 'Shtola? What words did you have for me when I emptied first my true feelings about my path? The fear. The horror. The pain."

Finally, her voice quivers. The tone rising from cool to harsh. The words come out as if tumbling freely from her mouth before she can think better of them. Her eyes had long returned to the sky, not seeing the stars but sliding aimlessly over the speckled canvas.

"When the newest threat or god or army is slain, do you ask me back to your quarters so that we may remark to one another about the journey? You know well how desperate I am for you to know me, the way I wish to know you. You have seen my love for you. You needn't your previous eyesight to see what I lay plain for you to behold every time we speak." 

  
  


The words are now like ice. The tone having turned to biting, hissing out from between her teeth. If she keeps talking the rising acidity at the back of her throat will have to wait to come spilling forth. Her face is still stony, the night air chilling her cheeks and her nose and she sees the great puffs of white that her breath leaves in the air and realizes she's breathing rather heavily. The battle was tough indeed.

"I am a business partner. One that you've known long enough to build up a comfortable rapport. I am an asset. Strong enough to see your ends met."

She's stumbling forward, thrusting out all of her bitter fears and anxious worries. The thoughts that pounce on her in her isolated moments come pouring forth, a torrent of all of her insecurity. 

"I have killed and killed and slain and will kill again. I am a god slayer, dragon slayer, king slayer, and slaughterer of men. I will be remembered fondly for it, because I have the terrible, wicked strength to be the victor that gets written about in historical texts. They will not hear of the families of the men I have killed. They will not tell of the worshippers of the gods I have slain, their idols now reduced to trinkets I carry to be reminders of my conquests. The years I have taken from those I have killed stretch longer than I will ever live."

Y'shtola's hand is no longer on her shoulder and she isn't precisely sure when it left. Her whole body feels cold save for the scalding heat welling beneath her skin. She grasps for more words, because there is no possible way that she has expressed properly the depth of the horror that she feels when she tries to understand what she's done and who she's become. The words don't come. Her eyes slowly glide away from the infinite sheet of stars and night and rest on the silent scion. 

Y'shtola's face has contorted with worry, shock, horror, and hurt. She supposes that it is a reasonable reaction. It has been long since she last spoke candidly with anyone, longer still for Y'shtola. Perhaps her time on the first has numbed the memories of their adventures in the source. Three years does a lot to settle emotions. For Ryuka, they are still roiling and tossing angrily beneath an apathetic shield.

"I… do not know what to say. I had not realized that… there was so much that had gone unsaid. However, I do realize now that I was woefully ignorant of your needs. You always seemed so-"

"Untouchable. Unshakeable. Unbreakable."

Each word is tinged deeply with bitterness. 

"Yes. I realize now that perhaps it was far too idealistic for me to think that you were as such. You are as mortal as any of us. You have your own emotions, mind, soul, and your own troubles. It is only now that I can truly see that and express my regret."

It is then that Ryuka sees that she has gone too far. Years of bottling her fears and anxieties had resulted in the lid coming loose and the things that tumbled out were far too revealing for her tastes. With the realization, her mask clings back to her face.

"I am the Warrior of Light. Now Darkness, I suppose. I will bear whatever burden I must to see that those who need help wake up to a better world. My personal struggles are my own and it shouldn't and won't affect my duty."

Y'shtola's face turns in confusion, her tail flicking up and curling at the end. She opens her mouth to speak, to say she will offer her shoulder to help bear that burden. But the chance doesn't come.

"My apologies for keeping you, 'Shtola. You look lovely tonight, as always. I will be returning to my quarters. Goodnight."

The first night she's experienced in three years and Y'shtola cannot find it within herself to say it's good in any way. In no way that truly matters. 

**Author's Note:**

> Just kinda used the name of my main FFXIV character for the WoL in this story, since I didn't really have another name to toss in there while I was writing it out. I know it was really heavy, but I think heavy stuff is what I genuinely enjoy writing about so... dunno what that says about me lol. I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
